


relationship status: dumbass

by theonlytraveler



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Loss of Virginity, M/M, dumbass Richie Tozier, i don't even know why i spent time on this, it's like...300 other reddie fics, this is garbage, why i do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytraveler/pseuds/theonlytraveler
Summary: Eddie turns away, but Richie can still see the blush rise to his cheeks, the color deepening when Richie brushes a finger over his knee.  Huh.  “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”  Richie grins, the big, toothy one that he knows makes Eddie snort and loosen up.  “You want my dick.  I knew it.”Eddie makes one of those special Richie shut the fuck up noises, and mumbles, “Yeah, I guess.”





	relationship status: dumbass

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Here's my fill for itfandomprompts October "First Time" prompt.  
> As usual, I couldn't keep things simple. And as usual, this is too fucking long.  
> I hate it. I hope you don't. 
> 
> I didn't edit much. I couldn't bring myself to reread this shit right now. I'll go back and fix stuff eventually.
> 
> Also this is greatly inspired by my lovely friend yallreddieforthis on tumblr. Writer of The Greater Fool. Who writes my favorite Eddie and Richie voices.

Richie is, admittedly, not the brightest dude around.  Sure, he can wing an exam and get 97/100, and half-ass pay attention in whatever the fuck math he’s been taking for the past year and pass without thinking, but friends and people?  Reading them accurately?  Forget it. 

Okay, so, maybe it’s not fair to say he’s _people stupid-_ more like _people-observant-selective._ He doesn’t know what Bill’s problems are about most of the time, or what the fuck Stan is so pissy for when he’s frowning and rolling his eyes and walking off with his arms crossed tight across his chest- but it doesn’t mean he cares about them any less.  It’s just... hard to split his attention six ways, when he’s so absorbed in watching one person all the time. 

That one person, of course, being Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.  The cute little bastard who glared at him the first time they met, probably because Richie had a mouth full of gummy worms and sticky fingers, and tried to shake Eddie’s hand like a gentleman.  He was raised with manners!  What can he say?  Either way, all he had to do was bust out one of his better voices (the butler of course) and he had Eddie giggling in no time.  It’s a success he counts and holds on to every damn day. 

Being _Eddie observant_ means he can always tell when something is up with him.  Like right now.  They’re sprawled out on the carpet of Richie’s dorm, battling it out on Tekken, and Eddie keeps _sighing._ And they’re not the _Richie you stupid fucking moron_ kind of sighs.  They’re something else, mixed with his legs shifting around and quick side looks that burn a hole in the side of Richie’s skull.  It isn’t unusual for the two of them to sneak glances at each other, but like this?  It’s the slightest bit alarming. 

It’s a risk to ask about it.  Eddie might be angry about something he doesn’t want to talk about, or he could be upset about something he very much wants to discuss.  Either way, Richie will end up feeling like an idiot, because he’s got the emotional depth of a cuticle, and Eddie is like a fucking, _ocean_ or something.  All these raw feelings bottled up on the daily, until it all comes out in a flash of rage or tears.  Not like Richie at all, who shrugs off every little thing and keeps on chucking- what use is it to fall to pieces over stupid shit? 

Another sigh.  Another side look.  Eddie’s socks are blue, with a single white stripe across the ankle, and Richie watches as Eddie shifts again, toeing at the bit of hairy skin peeking out at the bottom hem of his jeans.  There’s homework spread out around them, because the video games are supposed to be a break from studying and working on an essay due at the end of the week.  It’s been a couple years of this dorm life, and though Eddie claims he detests it on the daily, because he spends most of his time in Richie’s, which is _fucking disgusting_ (Eddie’s words exactly), Richie knows he loves it.  Why else would he be here? 

Richie takes the plunge as he makes his half-hourly adjustment of his glasses.  “What’s knocking around in that head, Spaghetti man?”  It comes out as casual as can be, and Richie feels Eddie’s shoulder nudge his, where they are wedged close together, up against the side of the twin bed.  It’s an accidental brush. 

“Nothin’,” Eddie grumbles, smashing the kick buttons a tad more violently than is called for.  With his other hand he fusses at his hair, dragging his fingers through the thick, earlier styled locks.  They’re lighter from the sun, streaks of a lighter brown highlighting the chestnut color Richie is used to.  “Why?”

His tone is testy, but Richie is schooled in dealing with Grumpy Eds.  “Well, you keep lookin’ at me like I said some stupid shit.” 

“You always say stupid shit,” Eddie shoots back, the sharpness softened around the edge of his voice.  He goes on.  “Just thinking.  I’m stressed.” 

Richie weighs his options.  It’s not that he wastes his time over-thinking every little thing when it comes to Eddie, but he’s been _trying_ to not fire off whatever half-brained bullshit comes to him when Eddie might need to talk.  So, he says, “School?  Or something else?” like the good as fuck friend he’s slowly becoming.  One point for Richie.  He’s gotten better at this _consideration_ thing. 

“Not those,” Eddie answers, and he shifts around again.  He’s got one of those preppy, bright shirts on with a popped collar, the ones that make him look all neat and put together.  The ones that make Richie want to mess him up and pull that collar down, just to peek at the tan skin beneath, and the freckles that dot his neck.  “It’s… something else.” 

Oh boy.  Eddie turns away, but Richie can still see the blush rise to his cheeks, the color deepening when Richie brushes a finger over his knee.  Huh.  “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”  Richie grins, the big, toothy one that he knows makes Eddie snort and loosen up.  “You want my dick.  I _knew_ it.” 

Eddie makes one of those special _Richie shut the fuck up_ noises, and mumbles, “Yeah, I guess.” 

Richie’s brain does that thing, where everything screeches to a stop and the rest of him tries to catch up.  But the rest of him crashes into his sudden-braking brain, and his mouth fishes stupidly for a few silent moments.  It’s not completely silent though; Michelle Chang’s theme plays on in the background, she and Marshall Law face to face on the screen, not moving, except for the human-like shifting in their stances. 

Though his brain is stopped, his mouth- the damn thing- decides to flap on.  “Come again?” He squeaks.  Fucking _squeaks,_ like he’s fifteen and Heather Brenson is stretching on the field during PE, a slip of her underwear showing under her short shorts as she bends herself in half to touch her toes, in clear view for everyone to see.  Clearing his throat, Richie fumbles with the controller, his fingers slipping over the greasy handles, made that way because he never wipes his fucking hands after attacking the bag of potato chips at their feet. 

“Um.”  Eddie bites his bottom lip, teeth sinking into the plushy flesh, and he turns to face Richie.  Eye to eye.  His face is all red and his hazel eyes are full of the nerves he’s trying to hide.  “I don’t want _your_ dick, okay?  I just.  I’m twenty-two and I haven’t had sex, and I’m tired of wondering what it’s like!  Everyone talks about it all the fucking time, and... I want to do it.” 

It takes Richie several slow, long moments to come back to himself.  He does, and he’s not entirely sure he’s completely present.  “Don’t you… I mean, haven’t you fucked a girl?” 

Eddie blanches, shakes his head and wrinkles his nose.  It’s ridiculously cute.  “No.  _No_.  I uh… almost did, but I couldn’t go through with it.” 

“Why not?” 

It’s probably rude of Richie to ask that, but Eddie answers him anyway.  “I didn’t like it.  Girls, I mean.  I… I don’t know.” 

Now Eddie is twisting his fingers together, controller long forgotten on the ground, hands in his lap with his legs pressed together.  It occurs to Richie, right then, that maybe Eddie can’t look at this sort of thing right in the face.  Like Richie did, when he figured out he likes dick just as much as he likes cooch.  A guy kissed him right on the mouth at his first college party, in the dark corner of the basement after a round of weed and shots, and Richie’s body lit up, nerves on fire as the guy licked a path down his neck and bit at his pulse point. 

Eddie isn’t as _roll-with-it_ as Richie is.  Never has been.  So maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that Eddie can’t just blindly accept this.  Can’t look at Richie and say “Hey.  I like cock.  Touch mine.”  The way Richie can subtly hit on a guy in hopes that he’s gay, or like _him_. 

With all the delicacy Richie Tozier can handle, he messes with his glasses again, and says, “You like guys?  That’s cool.” 

It must have been at least halfway to the right thing to say, because Eddie sighs out a long, suffering sound, but relaxes back against the bed, drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling.  Most of his neck is exposed now, the top buttons on the polo undone and hinting at the skin out of sight.  Richie swallows and curls his fingers in his dirty jeans, waiting to get knocked on his ass by whatever else Eddie decides to say. 

“I do,” Eddie breathes, his leg starting to jiggle.  The way it has since forever, under his desk in the back of the classroom, pencil eraser tapping against his lip as he frowns down at whatever test is in front of him.  It’s an awkward angle, but the effect is the same.  Some of that anxious energy leaves him, and Richie blinks when Eddie turns to him with an exasperated grin.  “Is that stupid?  I think I’ve known for a long time.” 

Time to say something supportive and not stupid.  “No.  It’s not.  That shit’s confusing.”  Eddie smiles, though it’s a little tight, like he’s fighting with himself to let go and say what’s really on his mind.  “I mean, I figured out I like guys kinda randomly.  It’s just what happens, I guess.” 

Eddie is quiet for a bit, eyes now on his hands in his lap, one thumbnail picking at the other, shredding the length bit by bit.  The pieces fall between his thighs, and Richie’s head suddenly swims at the thought of being _between_ them. 

Then Eddie turns to him again, chewing on his lower lip _again_.  Jesus- Richie’s not new to this fascination with Eddie.  It’s physical, nothing more to it.  He’s been hiding a boner for the runt since forever, and probably should have figured out he likes guys because of it.  He figured it was just… a weird thing.  A one-off.  Some sort of side effect of the shit they can’t remember much of, when they were scruffy middle schoolers and faced something terrible together.  Richie thinks all his friends are hot, but Eddie has always stuck out the most. 

“Rich,” Eddie says now, tongue sliding out to lick across his red, bitten lip.  Richie’s lower stomach tugs and swoops low at Eddie’s soft, hushed tone.  “I’ve never.  With a guy.  I’ve never done _anything_.” 

Richie’s mouth is dry, his hands shaking slightly.  It takes him a couple tries to say, “But you want to?” 

Eddie nods.  “Yeah.  With you.” 

Now Richie isn’t about to say no, but it seems the tiniest bit too good to be true.  Not that he’s been dreaming of this or anything, but touching Eddie is among one of his most reliable spank-bank files.  To have it come true?  Fuck- he’s not sure he could live through it and come out the picture of suave and experience. 

So he forces his eyes to remain on Eddie’s and makes some suggestions.  “What about Mike?  He likes you, I think.  And that one guy that you walk with from the library- the blonde one.  Pretty sure he’s got the hots for you.” 

Eddie is quick to shrug them off.  “Mike doesn’t like me.  And that other guy is straight.  He has a girlfriend.” 

Fuck. 

Richie’s heart is beating a sliver too fast.  “Well, why me?  Don’t you think I’m gross or something?” 

Oh shit.  It’s the wrong thing to say, he knows it the moment he’s finished, and Eddie turns away, brow wrinkled and knees coming up to crush against his chest.  He wraps his arms around his legs, and doesn’t lift his eyes from where they’re fixed on the discarded controller.  “Yeah, you’re gross.  Forget it.” 

Forget it?  The fuck?  Eddie can’t just slap Richie with something like this and then fuck off.  “What did I miss?” He asks, his tone a hair desperate, but he doesn’t have the spare room in his brain to worry about being embarrassed by it.  “I said something stupid.  What did I say?” 

“If you don’t want to touch me, just fucking say so,” Eddie snaps, and he pushes himself up on his feet, and starts to slip into his shoes.  They’re lined up at the end of the bed, clean and small next to Richie’s clown chucks.  “I’m gonna go.  I’ll see you later.” 

Richie waits, frozen, wondering how the fuck Eddie interpreted what he said in such a dumb ass way.  And he almost misses his chance, Eddie quick and already pulling the door open, his homework left on the floor and his head down.  “Eds!”  Richie shouts, scrambling off the ground, catching Eddie by the wrist, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Eddie doesn’t yank his wrist away, which is what Richie is expecting.  “ _What_?”  He demands, scowling with his eyes shining, the threat of tears choking up his voice.  “What the fuck do you want?” 

There are zero words that come to mind.  Richie could say something like, “Hey.  Come on.  Calm down.” Which, if Eddie wasn’t already this upset, might work to bring him back down.  But it’s too late for that.  Eddie’s fists are clenched tight like he’s ready to hit something, and Richie really doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.  The little bastard hits like a train. 

The only thing Richie can think to do is duck in, use his grip on Eddie’s wrist to push him back, until he’s pinned against the door and it shuts with a swift _click_ , and kiss him.  The angle is off, so he ends up with Eddie’s top lip between his, sucking it into his mouth to tease it with his tongue.  And Eddie- he lets out this _sound_ , something shocked and aroused, and then he’s clutching at Richie’s shoulder, worming the hand in Richie’s grip away so he can move it to the back of Richie’s head instead. 

Their mouths slide together, Eddie clutching at Richie’s hair with eager fingers, tugging just enough for Richie to groan and grab on to his hips.  It’s a messy kiss, not because Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing- it’s because Richie can’t seem to get out of his own head.  He’s stunned, chest tight as Eddie moans into his mouth, pulls away to pant and look up at him with heavy, dark eyes. 

Richie takes that chance to move them over to the bed, leading Eddie backwards until he can turn them around and push Eddie down.  Once he’s on top of him, finally between those damn thighs, Richie can fall into this easier.  It’s nothing like he thought it might be, with Eddie fumbling his way through everything, trembling and trusting Richie to lead him.  It’s _them_ , with Richie putting on his best performance, licking into Eddie’s mouth as he rocks his pelvis down, grinding them together in a slow, choppy rhythm.  And Eddie, encouraging him along by meeting every move, with soft murmurs of “ _Yes yes yes_ ” and Richie’s name falling from his lips. 

Richie closes his eyes, kissing down the side of Eddie’s neck, working on a mark where it slopes into his shoulder, collar pushed aside.  It’s as Eddie’s hips start stuttering that Eddie pulls back, says, “Wait, wait a sec,” and shakes his head a couple times. 

“What’s wrong?”  Richie says, slow and warm and deep in the heat between them.  “You want to stop?” 

“I’m not ready,” Eddie blurts, breathless with his eyes squeezed shut.  “I know I said I want to, but I didn’t know if you’d say yes, and I don’t know if we have everything we need-“ 

Richie shushes him with a quick, gentle press of lips, smiling when Eddie’s eyes flutter open.  “It’s fine,” he says, and places his hand low on Eddie’s stomach, fingers teasing at the bit of skin showing under the bunched hem of his shirt.  It’s soft, breaking out in goose pimples at his barely-there touch.  “We’ll work up to it.  Yeah?” 

He sounds way more confident than he feels.  Eddie nods, and then they’re kissing again.  It’s faster than before, worked up and close, and Richie all but swallows his own tongue when Eddie’s lustful whisper tickles the shell of his ear.  “ _Touch me.  Please_.” 

Who the fuck is he to say no?  He spreads out beside Eddie, keeps their lips together as he thumbs open the button of Eddie’s jeans.  Slides the zipper down and shoves his hand inside.  It’s _hot_ , and he cups the shape of Eddie over his underwear, shutting his eyes and forcing his breathing to slow.  To calm down.  Because Eddie- _Eddie Kaspbrak_ \- is hard for _him._ Hard for Richie Tozier.  His own dick throbs hard in his pants. 

Eddie presses a kiss to his jaw, breathing hard through his nose as he mouths down the line of Richie’s throat.  _Fuck_.  He’s not going to last if Eddie keeps it up.  So he nudges his fingers under the waistband of Eddie’s briefs, sucking down a mouthful of air when his hand meets warm, hard flesh, sticky where he curls his fingers low around the shaft.  The short, ragged gasp against the side of his neck makes him shiver all the way down to his toes, makes him turn and kiss Eddie’s wet, warm mouth, a groan rumbling through his chest. 

A few strokes are all it takes for Eddie to tense up and come, the wet heat of it coating Richie’s palm and knuckles.  Eddie’s thighs clench at the peak, his head tipped back and mouth open, Richie’s hair tight in his grasp, the sting of the pull fucking amazing at the roots.  And if Richie comes the second he gets his own hand down the front of his pants, well, it’s Eddie’s fault for being so fucking hot and needy. 

The afterward isn’t as awkward as Richie feared it would be, for the moments between _Holy fuck_ and _Ugh I need a shower now_.  Eddie laughs, all flushed and relaxed, stretching out over Richie’s sheets and making a disgusted face when Richie wipes his hand on his jeans.  They both wash their hands, then get back down on the ground and pick up on the game again.  Like… no big deal. 

It’s not a big deal. 

Cool.

 

/ / / 

 

When Richie said they could work up to sex, he meant it.  At the time, he didn’t have a bullet point plan, like:

  * Day 1 – handy
  * Day 2 – blowy
  * Day 3 – fingers



No, it was just a way to pump the brakes because not only was Eddie not ready at the time, but there’s no way Richie could have gone through with the whole thing.  No fucking way.  And it’s not that sex is new to him or anything, but with guys it’s still a mostly unexplored field.  Sure, he’s used his fingers plenty of times, but he’s only had his junk in two dudes before, and both times were quick, a bit awkward, and left him feeling guilty and off balance.  With Eddie, he’s not even sure he can handle the progression, to be perfectly frank with himself.  A rarity, but lying isn’t going to keep him from jizzing too soon and fucking up the whole thing.  Which is a definite possibility.

Eddie doesn‘t seem bothered by the fact that Richie stuck his dirty, greasy hand down his pants and jerked him off the night before.  Not even a little bit.  He goes on through the day, normal as anything, through homework and classes, not sparing Richie a glance until it’s time to head to lunch and they shuffle out of the lecture hall, side by side.  Even then, he just picks up on some previous conversation, something about a new show they’ve been catching together, and leads the way to the café hidden around the corner of the library.  Richie can’t remember the name of the show or the name of the café, not with Eddie smiling up at him, hazel eyes bright and carefree. 

It goes on like that for a few days, until they’re in Richie’s dorm again, in the same positions as before, and Richie has reached a point where he’s okay with the whole thing.  Fucking peachy.  Eddie’s hot, he’s hot- why the fuck not?  They’re best friends, and it’s not like they haven’t been through everything together.  What’s a handy and some spit swap compared to that bullshit they can barely remember from way back when? 

He’s really into the match between them, smashing combos into the controller and beating the shit out of Eddie’s player.  He doesn’t realize Eddie is barely fighting back until Eddie leans over the space between them.  Richie turns, just as Eddie gets _woah close_ , and is yanked into a kiss by the hair at his nape.  

Well. 

It’s a flurry of movement to get on the bed, because Richie isn’t about to pin Eddie to the floor.  Once they’re horizontal on the sheets, Richie latches on to Eddie’s neck, marking him with teeth and tongue.  Eddie’s fingers clutch at his back, one hand slipping up the back of Richie’s shirt, nails dragging teasingly down the dip of his spine.  He shudders, moaning when Eddie’s nails drag over the ridiculously sensitive skin on his lower back, and rocks down between Eddie’s spread legs. 

It’s the second time in a series of nights just like this.  Grinding until one or both of them tug each other out in the open, dry hands stuck between their sweaty hips as they smash their lips together.  Then the weekend is the two of them on Richie’s bed, clothes coming off and skin pressed together, sweat and spit and tongues tasting the saltiness of every crevice.  Things are going great until Richie gets on his knees between Eddie’s legs, sucking a line of kisses up the insides, his heart giving a lurch when Eddie sighs and pushes Richie’s curly, messy fringe out of his face.  The gesture is sweet, a touch too intimate, but Richie shrugs it off and keeps going, because he’s so damn close to getting his mouth where he’s dying to taste. 

Slipping Eddie’s briefs off, Richie stares down at him, and then... And then?  His brain fucking _shuts down_ on him.  He can’t think about anything other than all that smooth, tan skin, laid out under him like something right out of a fantasy.  It’s like the last couple times fade and crumble, because now he’s seeing _everything,_ and the word “beautiful” is knocking around behind his teeth, ready on the tip of his tongue to jump out the second he opens his mouth to say anything.  And that’s just fucking stupid, because he’s known Eddie is hot this whole time.  But beautiful? 

What’s the difference, anyway? 

He doesn’t say a thing.  Abandons his mission to suck Eddie down right fucking now and spreads out over him instead.  To Eddie’s credit, he’s only trembling a bit, and Richie only notices because they are almost completely pressed together, the only barrier between them Richie’s goofy, old boxers with the hearts all over them.  He’s never been embarrassed by them, but they feel incredibly childish right now.  

“Hey,” is what comes out of him when they’re face to face, gentle and tugged right out of somewhere soft inside him.  “This okay?” 

Eddie nods, face red and the hair across his forehead stringy with the sweat beading at his hairline.  “Yeah,” he chokes out, and Richie feels him try to close his legs, probably hiding himself.  “It’s good.” 

And then- and _then_ _-_ Eddie smiles.  It’s not a cheeky, smirky, shit-eating thing, which is how he typically smiles at Richie.  Instead it’s sweet.  Soft.  Something that knocks Richie off his axis and gets the fluttering started in his chest.

_What the fuck._

He almost wants to tell Eddie to fucking stop.  Don’t look at him like that.  Because he’s _just_ Richie Tozier, an idiot with a knack for being hilarious and nothing else really going for him.  He doesn’t deserve even a sliver of that look.  He doesn’t deserve to even _think_ he could ever deserve that look. 

Richie looks away, and starts a path down Eddie’s chest, kissing and biting and shaking each time Eddie lifts his hips and lets out a noise.  It doesn’t matter what kind it is- they all turn Richie on more than anything ever has before.  He can feel his dick get harder with every gasp and sigh, every cut off moan or shuddering cry.  Jesus fucking _Christ_ \- how is he supposed to survive this shit? 

Once he’s back where he started, he takes Eddie in hand and kisses the leaky head of his (fucking _gorgeous_ ) cock.  And well, if he wasn’t going to come in his pants this time, that option just went out the fucking door with the damn sound Eddie makes.  There’s nothing more to do than go from zero to ninety, and so he gets his mouth around the head and goes down, down, taking most of it the first try and grinding down on the mattress when Eddie cries out his name. 

Richie’s sucked exactly one dick before, and it wasn’t a very enjoyable thing.  Mostly because the fucker tried to hold his head down and fuck himself down Richie’s throat.  But Eddie doesn’t do anything like that; he clings to Richie, legs resting on Richie’s shoulders as Richie slowly kisses up the vein beneath, licks at the head and hums at the salty, musky taste of Eddie.  He’s not a pro at this, with one dick under his belt and all, but he must be doing damn good if Eddie’s squirming is anything to go by.  Eddie’s fingers tighten in his hair, on the top of his head where they’re holding on to two generous handfuls, hips jerking up quickly when Richie tongues at the tip.  And _fuck-_ is Richie supposed to just, keep sucking him off like it's anyone else?  Like Eddie hasn't been shoving Richie away since they were kids, gagging each time Richie playfully kissed his cheek or pretended to lick his face?  And now here he is, thighs about squeezing the sides of Richie's head, biting his lower lip to shit to hold back the noises that are backed up in his throat. 

Eddie's moving around so much that Richie decides to hold him still, sliding one arm around his thigh and splaying his palm low over Eddie's stomach.  There's a fine, dark trail of hair just below his navel, and Richie rubs his thumb down the line, curious and enticed when Eddie lets out a huge, needy gasp.  _Wow._ He does it again, gets his head moving up and down, and then he's suddenly on the edge when Eddie sighs out a breathy, “ _Please,_ ” and pulls on the strands of Richie's hair tangled in his grip. 

Eddie comes, and it’s sudden and fierce, that tug hardly a warning as his back arches off the bed and his nails scrape at Richie’s scalp.  A string of “ _fuckfuckfuckfuck"’s_ fly from his mouth, and Richie, caught off guard, chokes for about half a second before he's swallowing everything down and shooting into the front of his boxers. 

Eddie grins slow and dopey down at him.  It’s an A+ for blowjobs.  Solid ten out of ten.  He can do this all day if Eddie keeps looking at him like _that._

 

/ / /

 

The _dilemma_ emerges a few weeks later, when Eddie sucks Richie's soul right out of his cock and turns him into a boneless, mindless mess of limbs.  They’re in Eddie’s dorm this time, the soft, scented sheets pulling Richie into a dreamy lull, where he reaches for Eddie with wiggling fingers, eager to get his boy under his arm and snuggle. 

Wait… snuggle?  Fucking _snuggle_? 

It’s a side effect.  They’re best friends, bumping dicks in the quiet evenings they usually spend together anyway, history and secrets between them that even their group of friends don’t know.  Like, when Richie was sixteen and he tried weed the first time, he crashed into Eddie’s room at something like three am, sick as shit and paranoid.  He _cried,_ with his head in Eddie’s lap and Eddie’s fingers combing through his hair, shushing him but also letting him get it all out.  Or a week later, when Eddie tried it too, but took the hit straight from Richie’s mouth, eyes fluttering open and cheeks red when their lips brushed.  No one else knows that Eddie talked about leaving home that day.  Running away and never looking back just to get the fuck away from his mom.  And no one else knows how close Richie was to following him right out of Derry, ashes flicked over his shoulder and middle fingers up. 

Now he thinks of these moments, and eyes the swell of Eddie’s ass as he stands and slips his shorts back on (without his underwear holy _fuck_ ), casual and without a glance back at Richie.  There’s this urge to say _something_ , rummaging through Richie’s chest, through the shit he keeps there and ignores and shoves down every day.  He wants to listen to Eddie talk, preferably with their bare skin pressed together and their lips kept close.  Eddie hasn’t even said much about this whole thing.  Hasn’t shared an opinion or exposed how he’s feeling about it all. 

It doesn’t sit right with Richie in the following days.  Eddie talks to him about _everything_ , unless it’s one of those things that he’s still working through on his own.  Like the anniversary of his dad’s death, or his mom’s weekly phone calls that leave him both angry and miserable.  There isn’t a lot they don’t talk about besides.  It’s not like they’re fuck buddies (not even fucking yet) who don’t give a shit about each other. 

So… why the silence? 

Richie sits on these thoughts another week, through some exams and more alone time than he’s used to.  Eddie is working extra shifts at the ice cream shop on the other side of town and Richie is busy with the shit ton of homework he neglects until the last minute.  Which means Bill, Stan and Mike all refuse to hang out with him.  Ben offers to help him through it, but it’s not that he needs help.  He’s just being a distracted, lazy ass who needs to buckle down at get his shit done.   

The next time he’s alone with Eddie is a Thursday evening.  Eddie has the night off and Richie is mostly caught up with his own work.  The controllers come out and Tekken gets popped into the Playstation, and they pretend to be interested in playing for the better part of an hour.  Of course, Richie’s dying to touch Eddie, but he’s also entirely cool with them bullshitting around like this.  He’s not going to like, make the first move.  Even though he’s totally aching to get his mouth on Eddie’s skin again. 

Eddie sighs after he loses for the sixth time, then chucks the controller to the side.  Richie wonders what he’s doing for a few long, aching breaths, the side of his face hot with the weight of Eddie’s stare.  Then his lap is suddenly full of boy, Eddie’s knees planted on either side of Richie’s hips and his arms wrapping around Richie’s shoulders to pull him close.  Close enough for their chests to touch and their heads to knock together with Eddie’s raw enthusiasm. 

“ _Ow_ ,” Eddie mumbles, chuckling and touching the sore spot on his head tenderly.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Richie sighs, and Eddie leans in and slots their mouths together.  Richie takes a couple seconds to absorb this, allowing Eddie to angle their jaws how he likes, content to follow whatever rhythm Eddie wants to set.  Then, when Eddie seems satisfied, he sinks into it, controller joining Eddie’s as he winds his arms around Eddie’s waist and gets his hands under his preppy, pale yellow shirt.  They are dry and flaky against Eddie’s soft skin, but Eddie doesn’t seem to care.  Just hums into Richie’s mouth as Richie’s palms glide up, up until the shirt is bunched up and in the way. 

They don’t get on the bed this time.  Richie can barely keep up as Eddie tears his shirt over his head and starts a quick, hard rut between them.  It never takes much to get Richie worked up, but it’s close to embarrassing how fast he’s aching and needing, pinned with no room to move the way he wants to.  And Eddie keeps up the pulses of his hips, eyes closed and breath flooding Richie’s mouth with every exhale, and Richie gazes up at him, awed at the curl between Eddie’s brows and the heat radiating from his face.  God, Eddie’s fucking _beautiful_.  And the difference between _this_ and hot are thrown into sharp, sudden clarity.  From the freckles dotted over his nose, the honey hue of his eyes as he opens them, and those damn _noises_ he makes that Richie will never forget, even when his brain starts to rot and he’s ninety years old he’ll remember.  It all piles on top of everything shoved down in his chest, and he must look like a fucking moron right now, with his fogged glasses sitting low on his nose, in danger of slipping off as Eddie grins down at him with heavy lids-

After, Eddie wiggles away to change out of his underwear, rummaging through Richie’s basket of clean clothes at the end of the bed until he pulls out a pair of shorts.  Richie does the same, kicking his dirty laundry aside and shoving his legs into a pair of sweats.  He flops down on the bed, eyes on Eddie as he picks up one of the controllers and gestures for Richie to do the same. 

Shaking his head, Richie holds his arms out, wide open in invitation.  “C’mere.” 

“What?”  Eddie gives him an odd look, but moves closer when Richie whines and kicks his legs.  “What do you want?” 

Richie snags him by the arm and tugs him down, the breath punched out of him when Eddie lands sprawled across him, elbow digging into his stomach.  “ _Oof._ You killed me, Kaspbrak.  _Popped mah belly_.”

“Shut up,” Eddie moves to push himself up and off, but Richie wraps him in his arms and turns, smooshing Eddie's cheek into his chest and half his body under him.  “Ugh.  What the fuck are you doing?”

 _Not_ cuddling.  It's gay enough that Richie's given in to this urge to _hold_ Eddie.  He's not about to call it what it is.  “Nothin',” he says, showing all his teeth in a forced, gummy grin.  His face grows hot when Eddie sighs into his shirt. 

“Fucking weird ass,” Eddie mumbles, but the tense angle in his shoulders falls away, arms going lax, one resting heavily on Richie's side. 

Richie swallows down the jitters moving through him, tongue tied up around the dumb as shit questions he wants to ask.  It's his chance to check in, but what the fuck is he supposed to say?  He’s going to sound like an idiot, probably fuck up and say the wrong thing and piss Eddie off.  Is he supposed to just like, ask if Eddie likes getting his dick sucked?  By a guy?  Was it better with a girl?  Did he _ever_ get his dick sucked by a girl? 

“Hey, Rich?”  Eddie's voice tickles his chest hair through his shirt, saving him from opening his stupid mouth.  He hums to show he’s listening, relieved. 

Eddie doesn't answer right away, so Richie glances down, heart thumping stupidly when he finds Eddie's eyes already fixed on him.  “What's up?” he chokes out, voice cracking on the “uh”.  God- seriously?  He needs a hole to crawl in and just, fucking stuff his mouth with dirt so he stops sounding like a teenager with a raging boner. 

He might be imagining it (no, he’s like, _definitely_ imagining it), but he swears Eddie’s eyes darken, tongue licking over his lower lip.  “I think I'm ready.” 

“Ready?  For…?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, lets out one of those _Richie you fucking moron_ sighs.  His ears burn red, then, “For you to… fuck me.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

_Shit._

 

/ / /

 

Advice.  Richie needs advice.  Stan or Bev are the ones he likes to hit up for their worldly wisdom, or Mike if he has a common problem.  But this?  There’s only one person on the planet he trusts with this kind of thing.  The only human he knows with a slice of romance in their skin. 

“Haystack!” 

Ben moves aside to let Richie in his dorm.  He shares with Mike, who is spread out on his side of the room, long limbs taking up most of the twin bed.  His easy, familiar grin eases the tightness in Richie’s chest.  “Hey, Trashass.  Where’s our little one?” 

“Hugging the toilet,” Richie says, Ben and Mike both wincing in sympathy.  It’s been a few days since Eddie uttered those damn words that sent Richie spinning, and since then he’s caught a stomach bug.  Richie’s pretty sure it’s more likely food poisoning from that Chinese place Eddie likes than an actual bug, but Eddie insists he’s been “feeling fever-y”.  Either way, he’s been curled up in bed most of yesterday, but found a new place to burrow down under his blanket on the ground, right in the splash zone, and he’s been wedged between the tub and toilet since this morning. 

Mike leaves for a late class, slapping Richie on the back before Richie smacks a loud kiss on his cheek.  Once he’s out the door Richie belly flops on his bed, wiggling his hips and blinking innocently at Ben across the room. 

Ben shuts the TV off.  He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t like distractions, especially when it comes to people.  The second Richie called him and asked to come by for some _man to man chatter_ , he agreed and insisted he come by right now.  So… here he is. 

“So what’s up?”  Ben starts off, prompting Richie with his full attention.  “Did you get someone pregnant?” 

Richie scoffs, then rolls over on his back.  “Fuuuck no.  You kidding me?” 

Ben shrugs, that little teasing smile curling up the corners of his mouth.  “Just had to check.  What’s going on?” 

He should probably just come out and say, but Richie can’t be _Richie_ without adding a touch of drama.  “I got a _situation._ ” 

Ben parrots, “ _Situation?_ ” and when Richie nods, says, “Okay, now I’m _really_ worried you got someone pregnant.” 

Snorting, Richie toes off his chucks and kicks them off the bed.  They land muffled.  Probably on Mike’s pile of dirty laundry.  “Can’t knock this one up.  Thank _dick_.” 

“Okay,” Ben hums, then he moves over to Mike’s bed, shoves Richie’s leg hanging off the edge aside, and plops down.  “You’ve got a guy problem?” 

“Yep.”

“You gonna tell me who the guy is?”

“Negative.” 

“What’s the problem?” 

Okay, Richie knows he’s being difficult, but it’s not like he can just say “I think I like Eddie” and pass it off like it’s not going to destroy their group of friends under the wrong circumstances.  But then, it’s _Ben_ \- not Big Mouth Bill, who would probably get stoned and spill directly to Eddie without meaning to.  Ben’s the best kind of trustworthy of all of them.  He tucks his friend’s secrets into himself and never mentions them again. 

Like a big boy, Richie says, “Me and Eds have been fucking around,” all in one breath, and then waits. 

Ben narrows his eyes, curious and suspicious, but not surprised.  Or mad.  Or... whatever Richie was worried he’d be.  “Define _fucking around._ ” 

Jesus.  Richie shrugs, folds his arms behind his head and tries to wiggle his glasses back into place with his brows.  They sit off center on his nose, but he can’t be bothered to fix them.  “Dick smashing.  Handy here, a blowie there.” 

“Really?” 

Richie nods, studying Ben’s expression carefully.  “Yeah.  It was his idea.” 

Now Ben looks surprised, voice lilted with disbelief.  “ _Really?_ ” 

With his big boy pants still up around his hips, Richie gives Ben a quick rundown of how it all started, leaving out Eddie’s inexperience with guys and his v-card status.  He does say that _Eddie_ wants to have sex, and that every time he thinks about it his stomach gets all twisted up and his head goes fuzzy.  Like his brain can’t even prepare him for the reality of it.  Can’t begin to imagine it without frying a line somewhere.  

“Wait, so what’s the problem?”  Ben asks once Richie pauses long enough for him to get a word in.  “I’m not getting the issue.  You’ve done it before, right?  With a guy?” 

“Yeah, but with random people!”  Richie is sitting up now, legs crossed and a lit cigarette between his thumb and index finger.  Ben doesn’t always allow it in his room, and Richie has slowed down on smoking like, almost completely, but he’s agitated and twitchy.  The smoke soothes his nerves enough so he can actually _talk_ about this.  “It’s _Eddie._ ” 

“You like him,” Ben says, simple. 

Well.  Fuck.  “What’s your point, Haystack?”  Richie flicks his pinky over the burning end of the cig, the ashes falling into an empty soda can left on Mike’s bedside table.  “Feelings are bullshit.” 

Ben eyes him, sad and wondering.  It’s the puppy look Richie hates, because it gets him to crack the door open on all the things he keeps shoving down, just enough room for one thing to slip out.  He would rather choke than let this one _specific_ thing slip out.  “Rich, it’s okay to have feelings for Eddie.”

“Hmm I’d rather not.” 

“But you know that, right?”

And there it is. 

 

 

 

Many cigarettes later and a couple beers in, Richie considers this shit-show from an outside point of view.  He’s in his room, playing a game Bev sent him for his birthday earlier in the year called _Pandemonium,_ and he decides that Ben is probably right.  No, he’s _definitely_ right.  Ben’s a wise man.  Always has been.  If he says wanting to like, _hold_ Eddie through the night and maybe fall asleep next to him is okay, then Richie believes him. 

And now he needs to make a choice, per Ben.  He needs to tell Eddie how he feels _before_ sticking his dick up his ass, or go through with the whole thing and hope for the best.  A long, suffering sigh blows out of him, and his little jester player on the screen dramatically careens off a cliff and falls to his death. 

Damn, he wishes that were him. 

Eddie comes by a while later, pale and shaky but mostly okay.  He’s starving, having upchucked everything he’s had in the last forty-eight hours, so Richie warms him up a can of chicken noodle in one of his only glass bowls, and tosses a strip of saltines in his lap.  Eddie thanks him, then steals the controller and picks the other player, a girl who can get twice the height on the guy when she jumps. 

Tipsy, Richie rolls over to the edge of the bed, eyes on the back of Eddie’s neck where he’s planted himself on the ground, in their usual spots.  This is what he could fall asleep to every night, with permission to nose along the soft hair at Eddie’s nape, wrap him up close and breathe in his warmth and comfort.  But he has to open his fucking mouth first, and confess like a man.  Like a real adult, grown-up big boy. 

Eddie’s player dies, stabbed by a giant spider, and Eddie turns around with blood-shot eyes and bags under them.  He looks exhausted.  “I think we should do it next weekend.  What do you think?” 

Jesus fucking _Christ_.   

 

/ / /

 

The plan is simple.  Sunday, after Eddie’s off work, and Richie finishes his study guides, Eddie will come to his room and they will have sex. 

 _Sex_. 

Motherfuck.   

Richie’s gut squirms through the rest of the week.  He pictures it.  Compares it.  Wonders if it will be anything like it was with those two other guys.  And with his _feelings_ all mixed in, his nerves keep trying to fuck him over.  His hands shake whenever Eddie’s around, his chest aching and fluttering every time he thinks he’s worked up the balls to tell Eddie he _maybe-definitely_ wants to take him out to a nice place for dinner.  Wants to move him into his dorm and play house the grown-up way. 

 _Ugh._ If Richie doesn’t just, fling himself in front of the closest moving vehicle, he might actually die from being forced to listen to his own disgusting, extra humiliating thoughts. 

He spends the whole week worrying.  Anticipating.  Come Sunday, he’s not finished with his study guides when Eddie shows up around seven, hair damp and smelling like shampoo and soap.  He’s got a backpack over his shoulder with extra clothes, cheeks all rosy and eyes bright and lively.  And he’s _smiling_. 

“I’m uh, not finished yet,” Richie fumbles with his stapled packet for Sociology, flipping it to the fifth page in to show Eddie where he left off.  “It might take me a while.  Uh.  If you-” 

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, tossing the backpack down on the carpet and slipping his sneakers off.  “Do you want to finish it now?  We can work on it together after... I brought mine.” 

Fuck- after?  Richie’s sure he’s going to be fucking useless _after.  “_ Sure.  After’s cool.” 

“Okay.”

Richie has about ten seconds of awkwardly wondering how to start this, if _he_ should or let Eddie set the pace, but then Eddie comes to him.  Richie stands there, trying not to choke on his own oxygen, and Eddie just wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, pulls him down into a kiss that melts him inside.  When did this thing flip between them?  Richie is supposed to be the confident man, but it’s Eddie who leads them backwards, onto the bed where they spread out side by side.  It’s far from Richie’s first, but _something_ simmers in the air around them that takes him back to that place, when he was seventeen in his room with a girl he dated for a few months, fumbling and trembling the whole way through. 

Eddie notices, pulling away with flushed cheeks and kiss-red lips.  “You’re still okay with this?”  He asks, rubbing his palms up and down Richie’s arms, squeezing high up on his tense muscles.  “You seem weird.” 

“Yeah,” Richie breathes his response, tugging Eddie in again.  It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous as fuck.  He wants this.  “ _Yes.”_

They kiss and kiss and _kiss._ There’s a quiet, steady confidence coming off Eddie, something Richie can’t understand because his heart is suddenly racing.  Eddie palms his neck, scooting closer, leg hitched up over Richie’s waist, ready and wanting and almost too much for Richie to handle.  They touch, the way they always touch, Richie cupping Eddie through his shorts, and Eddie hissing into his ear that he wants more.  That he _needs_ Richie now.

Clothes come off slowly.  Eddie pulls Richie’s off first, careful fingers that roll his shirt up and over his head, then undo the button and zipper on his jeans.  Then his boxers, which Eddie shoves at while Richie kisses him deeply, reaching down to pull them off Richie’s feet and toss them aside.  Eddie takes his own off at the end of the bed, sets them on his back pack and digs out a small bottle of lube and a condom.  _Fuck_. 

Once they are side by side again, Richie gains a bit more ground, kissing Eddie until he’s panting and needy, hips rocking for contact that Richie doesn’t give him.  He takes the lube from him, flicks the cap open and asks, “Can I?” against Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie nods and spreads his legs.  “It won’t take long,” he says, his eyes on Richie as Richie squeezes some into his hand.  “I’ve been practicing.” 

All the blood in Richie’s body is already pooled below his waist, but he thinks if he was standing, he would have fallen over hearing Eddie say _that_.  His head gets a little fuzzy, but he nods and goes on, touching Eddie where he never thought he’d be allowed.  Circling.  Pressing.  Pulling back when Eddie hisses, then trying again when Eddie tells him to keep going.  He gets two in, and Eddie is gasping and holding on to him, hips moving as Richie stretches his fingers, spreads them wide and pumps them in and out. 

With three inside, Eddie says into his ear, “I’m ready,” holding the condom out for Richie to take.

Richie drops the packet twice, but gets it open and rolled on with Eddie's help.  He'd probably be embarrassed if it was someone else, but Eddie just smiles and pulls him close, into a soft, chaste kiss that makes his chest swell and his heart flip over itself.  Fucking hell- how's he going to get through this shit?  He can’t even get a condom on by himself.

“How do you want to?” Richie asks, hand on Eddie’s thigh, ready to hitch it up over his waist.   

Eddie answers immediately.  “Under you.” 

A pillow gets shoved under Eddie's hips, then Richie is wrapped up between his legs, elbows planted under Eddie’s arms, and he's pushing _in_.  And _god_ \- there's resistance, but Eddie tells him it's okay.  It doesn't hurt. 

“Are you sure?” Richie holds back from going any further, gazing down at Eddie's sweaty, flushed face, doing everything he can to ignore how fucking great it feels already.  He’s only a little bit inside, but _fuck._ “I can stop-"

“No, it's okay,” Eddie insists, hands low on Richie's back, pulling him deeper.  “I'm fine.  I want it...”

Then Eddie exhales, and Richie is _there,_ hips flush and skin to skin, closer than he’s ever been to anyone before.  It’s the sappiest shit ever, but something feels undeniably right about this.  Overwhelming.  Scary.  But _right_. 

Eddie tells him to move, so he moves.  Eddie asks him to go faster, and he goes faster.  And it's unlike any other time, because it's _Eddie._   Eddie's legs tightening around him, panting against his neck as he holds on to Richie's back, pleading for more.  More.  _More._

“Richie.  _Richie_.”

Richie slows his pace, so close already.  Too close.  Eddie sighs as Richie adjusts, pulls his knees up under him so he can rest his weight on them.  He thrusts, burying his face in Eddie's neck, kissing all up the side and back down again.  The change in angle is perfect.  Eddie moans deep, clenching all around him, chanting Richie's name as Richie fucks into him. 

The word sours in his mind- _fucking._ This is like, the farthest thing from fucking.  Eddie isn't someone Richie can _just_ fuck.  This is… this is _different._ Completely, stupidly, bizarrely different.  He’s never locked eyes with anyone with his dick inside them, has never _wanted_ to look at them the way he wants to look at Eddie.  It’s never made him ache when another person moans because of him, cries his name and holds on to him tighter.

Richie comes hard, so unexpectedly that he shakes through it, falling pretty much dead to the side as Eddie finishes himself off.  He still has his fucking glasses on, and now they’re all fogged up as he tries to watch Eddie come.  He knocks them off with a tired hand, catching the end of it as Eddie’s back arches slightly, and his balls swell and his chest gets all red and blotchy. 

Fucking gorgeous. 

Eddie cleans up right away.  On shaky legs he runs to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.  The water goes on, and Richie just… can’t move.  The condom is gross and he needs to get it off, but how the hell is he supposed to just _go on_ after this? 

The condom is in the trash by the time Eddie comes back out.  He looks a little embarrassed, and that _thing_ in Richie’s chest blows up ten times the normal size when Eddie gifts him a fond, almost shy grin. 

Fuck fuck _fuck._

“Eds,” Richie calls to him, ignoring his brain warning him not to say what he wants to.  At least, not out loud.  “That’s the first…”

Eddie sits down, close enough for Richie to trail his hand over Eddie’s bare thigh.  He’s in a pair of Richie’s boxers, still shirtless with purple-y marks blossoming over his neck and collarbones.  “First what?” 

Damn.  Why does he talk?  Why does he try to use words ever?  Richie gropes around for his glasses, gets them back on his nose and blinks steadily up at Eddie.  Breathless, he says, “It was great.” 

Eddie blushes all the way up to his ears, cheeks flattening as he forces a smile away.  “Um… thanks?  I can honestly say it was the best I ever had.” 

Richie snorts, swats at Eddie’s side.  “You menace.  You absolute _horrible_ person.  That was too easy.” 

“It was there,” Eddie shrugs, then gets up off the bed and goes over to his backpack.  “I had to take it.”  Then he just... gets his study guides out.  A pen.  And plops down on the floor ready to get to work.  Eddie crosses his legs and nods his head toward Richie’s desk, where he tossed his own earlier.  “Come on.  I want to finish these early.” 

Well.  Okay then.

 

/ / /

 

Here’s the thing about acting like nothing happened between them; Richie can’t do it.  Maybe if he didn’t have over a decade of history with Eddie, and didn’t go and fucking fall for him like an idiot he could just shrug it off and keep on keeping on.  But it’s like, they’re best friends _and_ he possibly already had a fat crush on him and didn’t know, so he’s totally fucked and moping about it. 

Richie didn’t ask for a lay that would change his life.  He just wanted to help his pal pop his cherry so he could go forth and grow, with experience under his belt and a bit more confidence.  Not fucking, _dream_ of a relationship with him.  And how would that work, anyway?  Richie wants to go to LA eventually, and Eddie’s set on moving to Seattle or something, to get in some nursing program and put the whole country between him and his mother.  Sure, it’s not _that_ far, but he’s going to want Eddie under his arm every night, and the thought of being sad about _not_ having that is just the slightest bit completely embarrassing. 

Okay, so... he’s not as “anti-feelings” as he’s made himself seem for most of his life.  It just sucks royally to be pining and daydreaming and _wanting_ Eddie so much that he can’t even sleep through the night.  Which is stupid, because one- they’ve never slept cuddled up together and two- when the fuck did his Eddie-fascination turn into _feelings?_   What the fuck, heart?  Way to watch his own back. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Ben tells him after two weeks of not touching Eddie, only catching him in passing because he’s suddenly too busy to come by Richie’s dorm. 

Richie is hanging off the end of Mike’s bed again, his torso straining under the effort it takes to keep himself from dropping on his head.  “Hey.  I never said I wasn’t.” 

“Here’s this thing.  It’s called _talking._ Using your words.  You know?”

Ugh.  “Never heard of it.” 

“Rich.  I will put you in a chokehold.”

“I quit talking,” Richie whines, but ultimately takes the advice and turns it over in his head when he’s in his room alone later.  _Talking_... man, really?  Is he going to have to get his big boy pants out again and be a grown ass man?  It’s the last fucking thing he wants to do.  What’s he supposed to say to Eddie?  _Hey Eds.  Funny story- remember when we fucked?  Well now I love you.  So… we good?_

“I _am_ a fucking moron,” he says out loud, cold and alone in his bed, missing Eddie and his warmth and his smile and just... _everything_. 

Kicking his legs off the edge, Richie bolts up and grabs the phone off the desk, punching Eddie’s room number in and holding his breath.  It rings.  And rings.  Fuck- maybe he’s at work?  Maybe he’s sleeping?  Ignoring calls?  Doing homework-?

The line picks up.  “Hello?” 

“Eds!”  Richie shouts, and plows on without a breath.  He’s nervous, okay?  And maybe a little excited.  “Hey!  What’re doing?  Wanna come over?  We can play Tekken and I’ll order pizza and I’ll pay!  Or we can watch movies, or whatever you want.” 

“Oh, um… I don’t know.” 

Oh shit.  Richie probably sounds fucking desperate.  “Uh... unless you’re busy?” 

Eddie hums into the phone, says, “Kind of,” and Richie strains his ears for any sounds going on in the background.  “I’m doing homework.  You can come over here, if you want?” 

It takes some impressive tongue-biting to keep from shouting into the phone.    

So Richie heads over.  All the way across campus.  Eddie stays in the same dorm as Bill, a good ten-minute walk around all the buildings and through the dark paths lining the parking lots.  By the time he gets there he’s already talked himself out of this _talking_ thing.  It’s probably not a good idea.  He’ll say something stupid.  Like, his chances of getting this right are basically zero.  Eddie will probably end up telling him to fuck off. 

Eddie makes room for him on the bed, shoving papers and books aside, eyes all bright and cheeks flushed from the warmth in the room.  “I’m done for now,” he says, scooting close as Richie sits down beside him.  They’re legs brush, skin against denim.  “You want to watch a movie or something?” 

Okay, yeah, this was a _bad_ idea.  The damn polo Eddie’s wearing is that odd color, something not quite pink and not quite red, and the collar in that shade looks incredible framing his smooth, tan neck.  The shorts he’s got on are shorter than usual, and Richie curls his fingers over his own knee, so he doesn’t do something stupid.  Like bury his face between Eddie’s thighs, bite and suck at the soft insides, the way he _knows_ Eddie likes and will drive him fucking crazy. 

It’s a glance into the canyon below when their eyes meet, a look that should be brief, but lingers.  And Richie careens off the edge when Eddie sucks that damn lower lip between his teeth, leaning in and cupping Eddie’s jaw to bring their mouths together.  He’s half-expecting to be pushed away, but Eddie clings to him, drags him closer, pulls Richie down, down on top of him. 

Richie was a weak kid, and now he’s a weak man.  He’s never denied that.  When Eddie slips his shorts and underwear off all in one go, spreads his legs wide and shoves at Richie’s jeans, begging him to get them off _now_ , Richie’s self-control snaps.  This time his thrusts are harder, deeper, Eddie clenching around him, gritty “ _ah, ah, ah_ ” sounds punched out of him every time Richie slams back inside.  They kiss, Richie’s heart melting into a puddle when Eddie’s fingers glide into his hair, keeping him as close as possible.  Richie can’t keep up the pace, slowing to a grind that keeps them flush together, lips brushing and Eddie’s limbs wrapped tight around him.   

Just like before, Eddie cleans up quickly when it’s over.  And just like before, Richie is boneless.  Weightless.  Watching Eddie pull on clean shorts.  Watching Eddie grab the remote off his desk and turn on the TV.  Ready to just _watch_ something.  Like it doesn’t matter.  Like Richie isn’t ready to just, _smother_ himself with a pillow if he has to keep pretending he doesn’t want Eddie in every way he knows how to want someone.   

“ _It’s not just sex_.” 

Oh.  Shit.  Eddie’s looking at him now.  Brows pushed together in that adorable frowny thing he does.  _Fuck_ \- he really said it out loud.  Fucking traitor mouth.  The one time he tries to shout something in his head instead of blurting it out. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything for several drawn out minutes.  Just blinks a few times, but doesn’t look away.  Then, he moves over to the bed and sits down, close enough for Richie to touch.  “What?” 

Richie can’t think with Eddie’s eyes focused on him like that.  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face in his palms.  “You didn’t want this.  I’m an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot.” 

He is.  He’s the biggest one around.  “I didn’t mean to like, _fall_ for you,” Richie pushes himself up until he’s sitting against the wall, pulls Eddie’s sheets over his lap because he’s still undressed.  His fingers twitch for a cigarette.  “It was an accident.” 

Eddie snorts, glancing away with a smile.  “An accident?  How does that work?” 

“I got _feelings_ ,” Richie says, spitting the word out with as much disgust as he can fake.  “ _Accidentally_.”

“Oh, really?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Then Eddie just... laughs.  Like, cracking up, holding his stomach, face all red and nose scrunched up cackling.  What an asshole.

“Why’re you _laughing_?”

“’Cause you’re being a _moron_ ,” Eddie gasps, reaching out and curling his fingers around Richie’s wrist.  They’re soft, and the touch lights Richie’s nerves under his skin. 

“That’s not very nice-“

Eddie yanks Richie in, throws a leg over his waist and gets as close as possible, settling right in his lap.  He’s not laughing anymore, but he’s smiling, thumbing at Richie’s chin, eyes soft and bright.  “Me too,” he murmurs, leaning in so their mouths brush, pressing their fronts together and snaking his arms around Richie’s shoulders.  “I’m _dumb_ and I want you.” 

Richie’s pretty sure he’s never blushed so hard before.  “You want _me_?” 

“Um.  Yeah.” 

“In the gay way?” 

“What…” Eddie moves back when Richie ducks in to kiss him.  “What other way is there?” 

Richie can’t stop smiling, moving in and dropping loud, smacking kisses all over Eddie’s neck, smirking when Eddie tips his head to the side to give him more room.  “My love.  My needy man.” 

“Ugh.” 

“My grumpy man.”

“Richie…”

“My cute, feisty-” Richie sucks a kiss just under Eddie’s jaw, smiling when Eddie inhales a sharp breath “- _perfect_ man.” 

Eddie hums, pushing his hips down in uneven thrusts.  “I _just_ cleaned up, asshole.  I need like… ten minutes.”

Richie grins, wide and toothy.  “Oops.” 

“You’re not sorry.” 

“Not even a little.”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles as he leans in, and Richie’s stomach explodes in those annoying, swoopy feelings.  Those feelings that kind of make him want to like, throw up six times because they’re so _ugh,_ but also take Eddie in his arms and bury his face in his sweet-smelling hair.  He goes with the latter, nuzzling behind Eddie’s ear, smiling when Eddie giggles and tries to push him away.  They fall sideways together, Eddie wedging his elbow under Richie’s chin in a loose chokehold, and they wrestle around, pulling their hits and kissing each time they pin each other down. 

“Hey,” Eddie pulls back from a wet, dirty kiss, eyes fluttering open as he gazes down at Richie.  “Can we go to your room?” 

“Sure,” Richie says, slow and distracted.  He’s got his hands on Eddie’s back, smoothing them all over his warm, bare skin, about six seconds away from bouncing back and ready for round two.  “Uh, why?  I’m kinda feeling this right here, you know?  I can get used to you on top.” 

Eddie chuckles when Richie wiggles his hips, sprawled over Richie’s front, elbows planted on either side of his head.  “I want to play Tekken.” 

Richie blinks.  “You want to play _Tekken_.” 

Holding back a cheeky smile, Eddie nods.  “Yup.” 

“…Why?  I mean, I get it.  Tekken’s awesome.  But, _this_ ,” Richie rolls his hips up, “is a little better.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie drops a kiss on his cheek, then straightens out his glasses, where they sit crooked on his nose.  “But I let you win all those times.  So… I need to kick your ass now.”

“You _let_ me win?” 

“Well, yeah.  You suck at that game.”   

“That’s kinda rude, Spaghetti man.  Where are your _manners_?” 

 “Oh my _god_.  Shut up and fight me.”

Richie’s pretty sure he’s got hearts in his eyes, staring up at Eddie with a dopey, loopy smile.  “You’re kinda amazing, Eds.  Like… I think you’re _it_ for me.” 

Eddie’s features all soften, and he breathes out this deep, happy sound, fingers curling into Richie’s hair perfectly.  “Rich…” 

It’s a little mortifying to say out loud, but it’s worth it to feel Eddie melt against him, limbs all lax and snuggly.  Damn- falling in love with your best friend might be the coolest fucking thing ever. 

“You know, unless I meet Jennifer Aniston.” 

Eddie sighs, the _Richie you fucking moron_ one, and pinches Richie’s side. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm expecting someone to tell me my Richie sounds like a fucking moron and that I should stick to Eddie POV. Bring it. I'm ready.  
> But also please be nice I'm a sensitive ass who thrives on love and feedback.


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